


What You Wanted, When

by emmaliza



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Angst and Porn, Face-Fucking, Foreshadowing, Love/Hate, M/M, Oral Sex, Power Dynamics, Repression, Semi-Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-12
Updated: 2019-03-12
Packaged: 2019-11-16 01:52:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,236
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18085148
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emmaliza/pseuds/emmaliza
Summary: Robb drops to his knees without even warning. Theon's not even hard yet, for fuck's sakes. He looks up at the sky in frustration, and almost wants to laugh at himself, because for all the years he spent yearning after Robb and hating himself for it, but craving so badly he thought it might kill him, to be annoyed when he's finally getting what he wants...Theon wants Robb to need him. Robb needs something.





	What You Wanted, When

Ever since he was crowned, Robb's been driving himself to the brink training. Not that he was ever less than diligent about that back at Winterfell, of course not, but Theon's never seen him obsess over it so. It has to be done in secret, in the darkest corners of Riverrun so the men won't see, won't think he's worried. Which he _is_ , but they can't know that, apparently.

It's fun to watch Robb's muscles twist and stretch beneath his shirt, gone see-through with sweat, but Theon probably shouldn't let him hurt something. That'd be yet another thing they need to keep quiet.

“You know, I thought the whole point of being a king was you had people to do this sort of thing for you,” Theon drawls, leaning against the cold wall, waiting for the response.

Robb jumps like he was caught playing with something far more suspect than a sword. “Theon.” His voice has gotten lower, Theon notes. The blade clatters on the ground. “You startled me.”

He shrugs. “Could be worse,” he says. “You can't skulk in the shadows all day.”

Robb gives him a withering look, which makes Theon want to retreat into the shadows himself. He was only teasing. “I have to practice,” he says. “These men think of me as their king. I have to...”

“I know that,” Theon snaps, irrationally irritated by being talked to like he's some stupid peasant. “I'm the heir of the Iron Islands, Robb.” He's not certain what that has to do with anything anyway, but he feels the need to say it, and Robb looks suitably abashed. So much so, Theon feels a bit guilty. He winces. “C'mon, it's the break of dawn. Have you eaten yet? Your mother will be worried about you.”

Theon sounds like his bloody mother, going on like that, but Robb's always had that effect on him. He wants to turn round and lead him back to the Great Hall (not that he's really memorised where that is yet), but Robb refuses to budge.

“W-wait.”

His voice pitches higher, just a little, and Theon turns back to him, intrigued. He shouldn't be, he knows what's going. Robb is chewing on his bottom lip, looking much less the king and much more the boy. Slowly, he creeps forward. Theon sighs heavily, but he doesn't move.

Robb drops to his knees without even warning. Theon's not even hard yet, for fuck's sakes. He looks up at the sky in frustration, and almost wants to laugh at himself, because for all the years he spent yearning after Robb and hating himself for it, but craving so badly he thought it might kill him, to be _annoyed_ when he's finally getting what he wants...

Those callous fingers shake as they unlace Theon's breeches. Robb is already panting, perhaps from overexertion, or perhaps he too craves this so badly it hurts. They're still in the fucking courtyard. Robb spends all his time nowadays lying to and hiding from everyone, pretending he's some young conqueror, but when the moment's right he'll act like a total whore right where anyone could see him. He wants anyone to see him. He wants anyone. _Slut_.

Theon gasps as his laces are yanked apart, and Robb mouths him through his smallclothes. With a frustrated growl, he grasps Robb's ruby red hair with one hand and takes his mostly-hard cock (because his body always does what Robb wants it to, that's not in question) out with the other. If Robb's so desperate to suck his cock, he can at least get his cock sucked out of it.

Robb doesn't protest, of course not, just closes his eyes in bliss as Theon's cock slips between his pretty pink lips. Theon swallows the lump in his throat and fights off the voice that tells him he'd love it just as much if he was the one on his knees with Robb's cock in his mouth, that that's the way he always used to imagine it anyway.

He cradles the back of Robb's head and pushes him forward, like he would any whore at the Winter Town brothel. He's sure that's what Robb wants. Robb gags as Theon thrusts down his throat, tears springing to his eyes, but his cock twitches in his breeches regardless. He'll probably come without even being touched, knowing him, and Theon hates how much he regrets that – that he can't offer Robb the same thing Robb gives him, can't let himself be used like this, can't serve and worship him like he deserves.

Theon shudders as Robb's mouth closes around his length. The tight heat feels good, of course it does – who wouldn't be pleased to have a slut as pretty as Robb sucking them off? But that's all Robb is when he does this, a pretty slut with a cock in his mouth. That's all he wants to be. He tries so hard to be the fucking king, but he hates it, and this is the only other thing he can make himself – the sweet, friendly, charming boy Theon's known for years, the one he loves, he's long gone.

He knows he's being used. All Robb wants is to suck his cock like any whore – but any whore would suck off any man who paid for them. Robb only turns to him because he's the only man he can trust not to use it against him as soon as they're done. Theon wants to choke him in rage. _I am the heir to the Iron Islands! I am the hostage your father brought to your doorstep, who should have been plotting his revenge all these years! Who are you to think of me as your fucking toy?_

But Robb is his king – who is he to tell him no?

He has both hands buried in Robb's hair and pushes him down ruthlessly, choking him on his dick – he hears Robb moan in need, shuffling forward to rub against his leg, and Theon lets him, of course he does. He'd do anything Robb ask. He can feel the shiver run up Robb's spine as he starts to come, smothering his noises on Theon's cock – he can be as much of a slut as he likes, so long as Theon's the only one who knows, because after all, he doesn't count.

Theon comes not long after, gasping and whining as Robb swallows his come, and afterward he wants to kick the other man away in rage. _I love you, you bastard,_ he thinks. _What have you done to me?_

But he's not a fool, and it is still Robb, really – how much could he really have changed?

Robb pulls off him and leans against his thigh, gasping for breath. He keeps his eyes shut. He's ashamed. _Who are you to be ashamed of me? Whore!_

“Robb?” Gently, he offers his hand. “Are you alright?”

But Robb doesn't take it. “I'm fine,” he mutters, and pushes himself up on his own efforts – he's a sweat-soaked, teary mess with breeches almost worn through at the knees, but he will not concede to needing anyone. “W-we should get back inside,” he says. He can't quite meet Theon's eyes. “Like you said. My mother will be worried.”

As he walks away, Theon stews in his bitterness. _Of course, he doesn't me,_ he thinks. _He only needs my cock._

Perhaps he doesn't deserve either.

 


End file.
